


Before the End

by orphan_account



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fanon, Fluff and Smut, lots of fanon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-23
Updated: 2015-11-23
Packaged: 2018-05-03 02:38:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5273375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts on a bus to Bellevue.</p><p>(giftfic for samsjazz)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Before the End

**Author's Note:**

  * For [samsjazz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/samsjazz/gifts).



Bellamy got on the bus to Bellevue with three dollars in his pocket and a chip on his shoulder. Usually, he didn’t have to travel directly from his first job, which was the brickworks, to his second job, which was as a security guard at St. Joan of Arc Hospital. Usually he could at least shower first at the tiny apartment he shared with his sister, Octavia, and maybe even eat something before he had to run to catch the next bus. The rent had been bumped sky high when their lease had come due for renewal, spurred on by the never-ending flood of people moving into the city. Those people made enough money to afford the bloated rent Bellamy's landlord claimed was due to his lack of credit history. He almost picked up to move them to more affordable housing before Octavia’s screaming defiance crumbled into furious tears. She begged him not to make her switch schools her senior year. Bellamy could handle rage; he had plenty of his own. He couldn’t handle her rare bouts of weeping. He watched her throw things that he wouldn’t be able to replace against the dingy walls, and thought about their mother dying just eleven months before, and how he wouldn’t be able to replace her either, and he relented. That had been the start of the security guard job.

It had also been the start of him reducing his university course load to three hours instead of the twelve he’d had before. Which had meant threatening phone calls from Nelnet—always made in the friendliest of voices—since he wasn’t going even half-time anymore and he’d taken out some loans. Pell Grants didn’t begin to cover the expenses of U-Dub, even for an online student, and since he’d had to start working both jobs he made too much money for a grant, anyway. He was planning on going back up to six hours, but he couldn’t do that if his loans were in default, but he couldn’t figure out how exactly to get them _not_ in default. It wasn’t like he had piles of money just lying around waiting to repay educational debts.

He’d been employed at the brickworks for a year and a half now. The backbreaking labor didn’t bother him, grabbing six bricks at a time over and over again to stack, not even stopping to wipe the sweat off his face until there was a delay farther up the line. He was twenty-four and he figured that was one of the things youth was good for. Besides, some of the guys there had been working at the place for thirty years and they were still moving bricks, not complaining because they were paid well in their seniority, so there was no way in hell he was going to feed an anti-millennial fire by whining.

He’d gotten off his shift to see his message light blinking cheerily at him with the “missed call” displaying the Nelnet number, and his mood, already precarious due to having to work sixteen hours in a day, had plummeted. He’d barely had time to stick his whole head under the faucet in the restroom to rinse off dust and sweat. He followed up by stripping his clothes right there in front of the sink and cleaning what he could with damp paper towels and a second, then third application of deodorant, before he had to pull on his security guard pants and boots, plus an undershirt, and run for the bus stop. He’d put the shirt on when he was closer to the hospital. Maybe he’d quit sweating so much by then. The weather was starting to cool, not that the brickworks ever cooled along with it.

Bellamy got onto the bus, tapped his ORCA card against the sensor, and nearly dropped an f-bomb in front of a wide-eyed toddler when he realized he’d forgotten to recharge the card. His third dollar was in quarters, since he’d dug it out of the couch cushions that morning, so at least he had exact change for the driver, but that was the last of his cash for the day and Octavia had his debit card because she’d needed tampons and he hadn’t had time to get them or go to an ATM. So he was going to have to work the rest of the night on an empty stomach.

And the bus was full. His feet didn’t _hurt_ , exactly, but they were kind of achy in a way that told him he could use better arch support in his steel-toed boots. Not that he’d be able to afford that, either. He clenched his jaw so tightly his teeth ached, and made his way to an open space so he could grab the bar, turning his backpack so that it took up less space and he could pull his cell from the side pocket.

 _Home yet?_ he texted Octavia.

She responded with a picture of their laptop screen, with the time and date in the lower right-hand corner, and their living room in the background. _Satisfied?_

Bellamy smiled a tiny bit, despite his foul mood. _I’ve got it on good authority that I never am._

_You’re a pain in my ass. Love you Bell. Stay safe._

She’d never texted that she loved him, or asked him to stay safe, till after their mother died. Now she did it almost every conversation, even though she thoroughly rejected his attempts to smother her in safety. He guessed, based on his own feelings on the matter, that she didn’t want to take the chance of having a last conversation end acrimoniously. He’d never asked her. _Love you too O._

At the next stop, there was a disturbance up front, some sort of interaction with the driver and a boarding passenger that made the people behind her give heavy sighs and narrow-eyed glances, but Bellamy couldn’t tell what it was all about. It ended as quickly as it began. The woman who’d caused the fuss wove back through the crowd—and she was actually a girl a little older than Octavia, he realized, giving her a second glance in spite of himself. Her face, bright red with embarrassment or anger, was pretty in an all-American-white-girl kind of way, and her blond hair streamed down unrestrained to the small of her back. She spotted a gap next to him and wedged herself in, grabbing the leather strap instead of the metal bar. She wasn’t short, but she would have had to lean up to put her hand by his. Not that he’d considered the possibility in the five seconds since he caught sight of her face, or anything.

“Ugh,” she muttered. Out of the corner of his eye, Bellamy saw her jerk the strap of her messenger bag to the center of her chest, outlining her (pretty spectacular) boobs with the adjustment.

 _Perv. Quit leching._ He redirected his gaze to the window. His reflection looked reassuringly severe, especially with his wet hair slicked back away from his face. He’d missed a spot in his ablutions before he left the brickworks. Orange dust streaked across his chest, just under where his t-shirt collar had reached. It wouldn’t matter when he put his other shirt on, anyway.

Blond-boobs-and-embarrassed girl swayed into his arm when the bus came to a stop at a red light. Her hair tickled his skin. He glanced down, more surprised than pissed, and saw her head jerk upright.

“Sorry,” she muttered, and made as if to scoot farther away, but there was nowhere to go. The entire bus was jam packed. There wouldn’t be any relief during peak hours. She had to stay pressed against his arm.

Bellamy swallowed as he caught the scent of her perfume. “No problem.” If anything, he probably should be apologizing for her having her nose at the same level as his armpit. Hopefully the Degree was doing its job. He shifted his gaze to her hand, white-knuckled on the strap. A pink leather wrap bracelet that Octavia probably would’ve given her right arm for adorned one slender wrist. The gold plate attached to the leather read _Princess._ Something about it rubbed him the wrong way. Even if she was somebody’s princess—and, taking more quick glances at her, he recognized expensive clothing brands from O’s girl magazines, the sort he flipped through when looking for gift ideas—who advertised it like that? What grown woman wanted to be a princess, like some kid playing with a tiara and a tea set? Give him a competent brunette any day, one who knew how to get shit done and didn’t waste time whining about how life should’ve delivered to her on a silver platter.

Having consigned Princess to the realm of “pain in the ass rich people who slum it for no good reason,” he almost nodded in satisfaction before he caught himself.

The girl did nod, though, her head sinking lower and lower before her chin hit her chest and she straightened, blinking too fast, her eyes wide in a way that told him she was trying to stay awake and about to fail. He knew that look. Hell, he’d see it in the mirror tonight. She’d probably been up partying too late last night and then had a pedicure she couldn’t miss or something.

Sure enough, in the next five minutes she fell asleep and started awake about a dozen times. Her fingers almost slipped free of their grip, but she caught herself before she tumbled forward onto the lap of the very pregnant woman on the seat in front of her.

The thirteenth time, she pressed her face to his arm and stayed asleep.

Bellamy wavered between irritation and amusement, folding his lips in and taking a deep breath as he debated how to handle the situation.

But then she nuzzled a little closer, with a happy sound in her throat, just like Octavia used to make when she was still young enough to fall asleep next to him, and he couldn’t force himself to shrug her off. He rolled his eyes at his own ridiculousness and slowly, slowly, switched arms so that he was holding the bar with the one farther away from her. With his now-free arm, he reached and gently grabbed the back of her jacket where her bag strap crossed between her shoulder blades. That should keep her upright without feeling molested if she woke up before he could let her go. Everyone else in the bus was so busy avoiding each other’s eyes and focusing on their cell phones that they wouldn’t notice him hanging onto a total stranger while she slept.

Princess leaned into him, her whole side pressed to his. His life was pathetic and so was he.

The trip normally took about 35 minutes, but during rush hour, like now, it was more like 80. By the time they reached the stop closest to the hospital, Bellamy’s raised arm had gone numb and he was pretty sure Princess had started drooling on his bicep. Good thing she was cute.

No, she wasn’t. She was a spoiled brat and he was indulging her.

He still was glad when someone else pulled the cord before his stop so he wouldn’t have to let go of her till the last minute.

When the bus groaned to a halt, he gave Princess a brisk tap. She snorted and looked around wildly, obviously trying to figure out where she was.

“I think there’s a seat, over there,” he told her, with a barely-there nudge in the right direction. Still looking confused, she staggered the couple of steps to the seat and plopped down. Bellamy didn’t bother to suppress his smile as he swung his backpack into place and walked to the exit.

The smile stayed through the rest of his shift.

“What’s so funny?” his coworker, Murphy, asked above halfway in.

Bellamy wiped his face of any expression. Murphy always seemed to be one perceived insult away from grabbing his gun collection and taking out a wing of the hospital. No one else seemed to worry about it, but Bellamy wasn’t taking any chances. “Nothing. I just saw a girl tonight on the bus who made me laugh.”

Murphy shrugged and went back to looking at porn on his phone.

Bellamy went two weeks without thinking about Princess _too_ often, except every time he got on the bus and every time he saw a flash of long blond hair or someone wearing a pink bracelet. Octavia helped with distracting him by suddenly developing a completely inappropriate crush on one of the volunteer coaches at Boys and Girls Club, where she was getting her community service hours for school. Bellamy found out by accident when she texted him a picture that was meant to go to her friend Atom with the caption _this is why I'm not hooking up w u stop asking._ So of course he had to show up there unannounced to make sure some grad student with a death wish wasn’t hitting on his baby sister, and that pissed Octavia off enough that she made his life hell for a week afterward. Not that he didn’t make hers equally bad, but he figured that was fair.

He was mulling over the problem as he made his rounds of the hospital, late one night, trying to come up with a way to confine O to their apartment for the rest of her high school career without her noticing. A smaller body collided with his back and nearly knocked him into the wall before he caught himself. The sudden movement caused pain to flare up in his right hand, which he’d crushed under a dozen bricks a day earlier by not coordinating well with another guy at the brickworks.

“Watch the fuck out,” he snapped, turning to glare at the moron, and then almost stumbled when he saw who it was. “ _Princess_?”

“Oh my God, I am _so sorry_ ,” she said, making a pointless effort to smooth out his shirt. “Wait, what? Who?”

“I… your bracelet, I mean, you were on the bus,” he stammered out, which made him feel stupid enough that he was able to snap his mouth shut and scowl. When he spoke again, he could form a complete sentence. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

She dropped her hands, expression sliding from embarrassment to irritation. “It was an accident. I said I was sorry. And what the hell do you mean—hold on. Are you…” She stepped closer to peer at his face. Bellamy concentrated on keeping his feet right where they were rather than scooting back. Recognition dawned and she gave him, if not a smile, at least a look of welcome. “You are! I didn’t recognize you with your hair dry. You’re my guy from the bus!”

 _Her_ guy. He should have been insulted but instead he just felt gratified. “Does that make you my girl from the bus?”

“Princess,” she said, almost before he finished. “That stupid collar.” He couldn’t follow the bunny trail, and she must have understood the confusion, because she clarified. “I walk dogs. One of them, this poodle? She always slips her collar and that day I forgot to give it back to her owner. I wrapped it around my wrist so I wouldn’t forget again. Her name is Princess.” Bellamy couldn’t keep the smile off his face at that, and she gave him one in return. “ _My_ name is Clarke.”

“Hi, Clarke.” She stuck out her hand. He shook it as he added, “I’m Bellamy.”

He would have let go, except she held onto his fingers for a little longer than necessary. It wasn’t a _problem_ , precisely, but he wasn’t used to cute girls holding his hand at all anymore. His hookups over the past couple of years had been strictly functional. She was looking at his knuckles. “You’re hurt.”

Bellamy grimaced, easing his hand away from her grip. “No, I’m fine.”

She let him go, but cocked her head to examine him with a frown. “‘Fine’ isn’t how I’d describe that level of bruising. I’ve only seen that with broken bones.”

He didn’t have time for broken bones. He didn’t have time for her _concern_ about his broken bones. Anyway, “aren’t you kind of young to be playing doctor?”

A faint flush tinged the tips of her ears, but she didn’t look away, though her gaze grew more severe. “I’m an advanced volunteer here. I know my way around cuts, abrasions, and bruising.”

Advanced volunteer meant she was college aged, at least. Not that it mattered. Not that he cared. “Well, I’ve got rounds to make before I get back to the control room, so it’s gonna have to wait.”

“I’ll be here till midnight. Why don’t you find me on the first floor when you get your lunch? I’ll take care of it then.”

Godammit. “What part of ‘I’m fine’ is hard for you to understand?”

Her chin jutted out stubbornly. “The part where you can’t even bend enough fingers to flip me off.”

He couldn’t restrain a snort of laughter. “Fine, Pr-Clarke. I’ll find you. But I’m telling you, there’s nothing wrong.”

She was already walking away, but she gave him a cheery wave over her shoulder. “Sure. See you then!”

He didn’t want to go, but by the time his lunch break rolled around, his hand was so stiff that he was starting to really worry. If he had to take time off his first job, he wasn’t sure how they’d survive. Sure, there was workman’s comp, but he wasn’t sure how that stuff worked, and anyway it would probably leave a gap between getting approved and getting paid. They couldn’t afford to be off on bills by even a few days. So he went to see Clarke.

She didn’t act smug, the way he’d half thought she would, when he found her ticking off an inventory list in a supply room. She just set her tablet down and said, “Good. C’mere, there’s a chair.”

Bellamy followed her to the chair and sat, holding his hand out. She took it in a firm but gentle grip with a look of immediate concern. “You should have a real doctor look at this.”

“I don’t have any time for that.” She opened her mouth, probably to argue. He forestalled it with, “I’ve got to get home to my sister and do homework before I go to my other job. I’m not being facetious about not having any time. It’s the literal truth.”

Clarke clearly still wanted to debate that point, but she closed her mouth, then heaved a sigh. “Fine. I’ll do what I can.” She moved her fingers up and down the bones. “I can’t feel any breaks but that doesn’t mean there’s not a hairline fracture or something. I don’t know.”

“Can you just bandage the worst of it and ice it down?” It was what he would’ve done himself, anyway, but it would be nice to have someone else’s two hands to his one taking care of things. Which was kind of a general metaphor for a lot of things in his life.

She didn’t like it. The furrow between her brows made that clear. “You got it.”

He fell asleep in the chair while she finished bandaging the scrapes, only coming around when she put a cold pack on the back of his hand. “Wha—oh. Thanks.”

“No problem.” She held out a smoothie from the stall next to the gift shop. “Here. Have some overpriced fruit and veggie puree. Plus protein. It’s healthy. Unless you’re allergic to nuts. You aren’t, are you?”

“Nah, I’m fine.” He tried to get up, but she put one hand on his shoulder and pushed down. He sat back more out of surprise than anything else.

“You keep saying you’re fine, so I’m guessing your baseline for ‘okay’ is way farther down than most people’s. In which case, this smoothie will probably make today qualify as ‘best day ever’ material. Drink it; it’s got mango.”

Bellamy took the smoothie. He still felt the need to protest. “I’m pretty sure this won’t help my hand.”

“Sure it will. Proper nutrition aids healing.” Clarke picked up the tablet and moved to a nearby shelf, making a big show of examining the rolls of gauze even though he could see her checking him out of the corner of her eye. “If you’re working two jobs and going to school and taking care of your—little? Sister?” He nodded. “Then I’m guessing you aren’t eating well. Not enough time.”

“You do a lot of guessing,” he felt compelled to point out. Damn. The smoothie was really good.

“I kind of have to. You’re not telling me much. By the way, you missed calls from someone named Monty and someone named Jasper while you were out. Then they both blew up your phone with texts. I wasn’t trying to snoop but I’m unintentionally great at it.”

Bellamy picked up his cell with his unhurt hand. “They probably just want to eat all our food. They’re my little sister’s friends and their parents aren’t around much.” Yup. That was what they wanted. He sent a group text to them along with O: _Eat whatever the hell you want but leave my beer alone,_ and put his phone down.

“So you’re actually taking care of a bunch of kids.”

His phone started vibrating on the table, but he ignored it. “How long have you worked here?”

“Nice, seamless transition. Almost unnoticeable.” He snorted. She had a habit—he was already starting to notice her habits, this was a terrible sign—of smiling with her eyes even when the rest of her face was serious. “I’ve been here forever. My mom, uh, she’s a doctor. So I kind of grew up here and at my dad’s work.”

“I haven’t seen you around before.” Surely he would have if she’d really been here all that long.

“I was out of town for six months.” Her mouth twisted, and she didn’t say anything else.

Bellamy nodded. “What’s your dad do?”

“He’s in computers,” she said, as if she hadn’t just described the employment situation of half of Seattle. “Are you gonna get that?”

Bellamy glanced at the phone, which displayed Nelnet’s toll-free line. “It’s not important.”

“Cool. I just wanted to give you the excuse in case you were tired of talking to me.”

He grinned. “Not yet. You’re pretty interesting.”

“Yeah?” She gave him an arch glance. “You should see me when I’m not in scrubs.”

In the six hours he had free when he wasn’t working, except when he was doing homework, or taking Octavia places. Irritated, Bellamy shrugged and finished his drink. “Thanks for this.”

Clarke walked over to take his cup. She was a leftie. “Sure. There’s a recycle bin over here. See you later.”

“Yeah.” He walked back to the control room, where he was supposed to help his supervisor, Nate Miller, keep an eye on the CCTV feeds tonight. Miller was even younger than Bellamy, but his dad had worked at the hospital forever, so he had a higher pay grade.

Miller nodded at him when he entered the room. “Hey.” Bellamy took his place in the seat next to his boss. “So… Clarke Griffin, huh?”

“You know her?” Bellamy kept his gaze trained on the black and white screens, but he must have given something away because Miller laughed.

“Yeah, of course I do.” Bellamy raised his eyebrows, and Miller said, “Wait. You don’t?”

“I met her before, but this is the first time I found out her name.”

“Huh. Well, her mom’s the CFO for the parent charity that operates our hospitals.”

Bellamy almost fell out of his chair. “What? She said her mom’s a doctor!”

“That’s true; Abby Griffin was one of the best ER physicians in the hospital from what I’ve heard. But she started making her way up the administrative ladder awhile back.”

Bellamy swallowed down a sudden spike of nausea in his gut. Clarke was so far out of his league that he might as well be on a farm team in Tennessee while she played for the Royals.

“You gotta admire her for keeping a job, I guess,” Miller mused, sounding more as if he were talking to himself than Bellamy. “A lot of people would quit once they married someone like Jake Griffin.”

Now it was Bellamy’s turn to laugh, a quick, despairing sound before he cut it off. “Clarke’s dad is Jake Griffin.” Because of course he was. Jake Griffin had guest lectured for Bellamy’s Diplomatic History of the United States class a few times. A man who called the President of the United States on his direct line was Clarke’s dad. She actually _was_ a princess, or the closest thing you could get. General “you.” Obviously he himself wouldn't be getting her in any sense of the word.

He saw her around after that, of course. Clarke was the sort of person who, once you’d noticed her, didn’t fade from view easily. She seemed pretty busy, at the hospital for at least twenty hours a week, and that was just what he could see when he was there. On her breaks, she studied a lot, huge textbooks for science courses. People came to talk to her all the time, asking her questions. She always had an answer for them.

Octavia hadn’t stopped obsessing about the grad student at Boys and Girls Club, so Bellamy put his foot down. She wasn’t allowed to go there anymore until Lincoln quit.

“That’ll be _years_!” she yelled at him, stomping her foot.

The downstairs neighbor hollered, “SHUT UP, OCTAVIA,” which was convenient, because Bellamy had been about to say the same thing.

“YOU SHUT UP JASPER!” she shrieked, stomping down extra-hard for good measure.

“MONTY’S TRYING TO SLEEP!”

That got Octavia to stop. She grabbed her phone to text something, probably “Sorry” to Jasper and Monty both, and threw it down on the couch so she could glare at Bellamy unobstructed. “You’re being so fucking stupid about this. He doesn’t even _like_ me.”

“Bullshit.” Bellamy had seen the guy and yeah, he seemed awesome, for someone who was _way too old_ for Bellamy’s baby sister. He also had been way too playful with Octavia. “I know you, O. You get what you want. I almost feel sorry for the poor bastard if you do, except I’ll have to ignore that while I’m punching his face into a crater. If you care about him, stay away from him. I mean it.”

“Like you _could_ punch his face at all before he beat the shit out of you,” Octavia muttered, but she did it on her way to her room so Bellamy let it go. She might have been right anyway, although at least he would have had righteous anger on his side.

He went to the hospital still worrying about the situation like a dog with a bone. He also had a final coming up, so he brought his textbook with him to read in the cafeteria on his breaks.

“ _History and Obstinacy_ ,” read a clear voice over his shoulder. Bellamy twisted to smile at Clarke. She rounded the table and plopped into the seat opposite him. “Studying?”

“It’s an examination of my relationship with my sister,” he replied.

That got a genuine smile out of her, not just an eye-smile, which felt like a victory. “Homework is harder when it’s personal.”

“You must have finals coming up too. Where are your books?”

“I’m going to use them for kindling. I hate organic chemistry. It’s out to kill me in my sleep.”

“Are you pre-med?” It seemed a logical choice, considering her mother, so he wasn’t surprised when she nodded. “Better get used to it, then.”

“I’ve got an art final too. Beginning Drawing: the Figure. It’s about the human body. I need a model.”

“Are you secretly a sweaty forty-year-old man with a webcam in his basement?” he asked. “Are you going to ask me to make ‘art films’ with you? The answer’s yes, by the way, I will totally do that.” The words just kept coming out of his mouth even though he was silently yelling at himself to _shut the fuck up._

She ticked off her answers on her fingers. “No, yes, and thank you for helping me get an A, I feel certain my professor will be into you.” He felt like he was choking on his own tongue, but she continued blithely as if he weren’t picturing getting naked with her on camera. “I actually do need you to model for my sketch. It’s just ink on paper, no big deal.”

“You need me to.” This had to be the most creative way he’d ever been persuaded to take his clothes off. Maybe this was what art classes did to people, in which case, thank God for education. “No big deal.”

“Yeah.” Clarke tucked her hair behind her ears and affixed him with a guileless gaze that he immediately distrusted. “Do you want to come over to my place? Or should I meet you somewhere? The hospital’s not exactly conducive to creativity, unless we’re talking creative ways to get bodily fluids out of a cotton/polyester blend.”

He noted the lack of an “or I’ll come over to your place” option, and it made him sour. The urge to punish her, somehow, for having everything and not caring that he didn’t, made him say, “If you want me, you'll have to come to my place. It’s in Renton, though, so it’s a drive.”

“Really? Your place? Your sister won’t mind, or your girlfriend?” She fumbled for a second, and picked up the conversational thread again with, “Or maybe a boyfriend, I don’t know?”

She wouldn’t have offered to sketch him if she really thought he had a significant other. This was just a not-very-subtle way to cover her bases. Bellamy found it oddly endearing. “My sister might mind, but I don’t care. She’s been awful lately. She’s almost eighteen, so it’s her job, but still. And no girlfriend, or boyfriend, thank you for asking.”

“Okay. Can I take you home tonight?”

In point of fact, he was going to have to crash in a spare coat closet or something since he didn’t get off work till midnight, and buses didn’t start running again till five, so he had no good reason to turn her down. He still kind of wanted to, just on principle, like _no daughter of rich people shall ever have my ass upon her leather seats_ , but that was stupid and he was not. So he said, “Sure,” and tried not to smile too goofily. Judging by the charmed amusement in her eyes, he probably failed, but he couldn’t make himself care.

Clarke led him through the parking garage to a perfectly reasonable Nissan Leaf, not the sports car he’d half-consciously expected. The seats were black cloth.

“You want to give me directions or have me plug it into navigation?” she asked, putting the car in gear. It had a surprising amount of pickup for an electric.

“I’ll tell you where to go.” He grabbed the oh-shit handle as she careened out on the street. “Uh, left at the light. We’re heading to 405.”

“I figured.”

Once they were on the highway, Bellamy realized that this time of night, she would be able to reach his apartment in half an hour. The thought left him deflated. “How long do you think this will take?”

“I dunno. Traffic isn’t bad, so maybe thirty minutes? Why? Do you have somewhere _else_ you have to be? Please say you aren’t working a third job. That’s a lot.”

“I’m not. Just two.”

She shot him an unreadable glance. “Just two. And school. And a seventeen-year-old sister who’s been awful lately.”

He was allowed to talk about Octavia that way, but no one else was. “She’s not awful, she’s great, it’s just that she’s going through a hard time. And I can’t be home enough, as much as she needs.”

Clarke did the almost-smile thing. “It sounds rough for both of you.”

“So why are you smiling about it?”

“I don’t think it’s funny. I’m just always interested in how brothers and sisters can be calling each other names one moment and be ready to punch someone else on their behalf the next.”

“I wouldn’t have punched you.” She gave him a _duh_ look and he laughed. “So you’re an only, I guess.”

“Yeah. Although, my best friend growing up, Wells? He and I kind of had that relationship, so I can’t say I don’t know what it’s like. Even today, if somebody hurt him, I’d be ready to fly out to Los Angeles and deal with it.”

“What about your boyfriend? Or girlfriend?”

She gave him a real smile. “I’ve had both in the past, but none as close to me as Wells. God, did _I_ sound that clumsy when I asked? I did, didn’t I. Sorry. For the record, if you’d had a girlfriend or boyfriend, I would’ve still given you a ride home.”

She was so cute. “Well, you do need me to model. You still haven’t let me know if nudity’s optional.”

“Tonight? Nudity’s optional. But I’m not asking you to model till you’re not dead tired. That would be selfish.”

Bellamy’s throat went tight, and his heart gave a huge thud in his chest, so loud he was surprised his seatbelt didn’t jump with it. “If I’m not modeling, why’s nudity on the table?”

Her preternatural self-confidence seemed to desert her at the question. “I don’t know. It’s not if you don’t want it to be. I shouldn’t have harassed you. Technically you’re my mom’s employee. What music do you like? Turn on the radio.”

He ignored that bit of misdirection. “And why isn’t it selfish to get me nude if modeling isn’t part of the plan?”

Her hands moved across the steering wheel, sliding once before stopping at ten and two. “Because hopefully you’d be getting as much as you’re giving. I mean, I think I’m pretty good at getting naked.”

“Oh my God,” he muttered under his breath. He was going to die. He was going to have a stroke right here in her passenger seat.

“So I like really shitty pop and only listen to Venus,” she said, in a falsely bright tone. She poked the XM button with a little too much force, and Walk the Moon promptly blared out.

Bellamy had to listen to a whole round of the singer emoting about different colors before he managed to croak out, “Just because it’s pop doesn’t mean it’s shitty.”

“No, but I mean, legit shitty. It’s a fatal flaw. Wells won’t let me drive anywhere unless I hand him the aux cord.”

That was enough to set him off on a tangent about whether or not popularity was an automatic disqualifier for quality, and she argued back in favor of the terribleness of her taste in music until she pulled up at the curb next to his apartment building.

Clarke put the car in park. “It’s a school night, so I won’t ask if I can come up.”

All things considered, a school night might actually have been preferable, but that thought flew out of Bellamy’s mind the second he saw the balcony doors to his apartment open and light pouring out into the rainy night. “What the hell?”

“What’s wrong?” Clarke asked, but he was already out of the car, leaving the door open in his haste. Her voice followed him up the  stairs. “Bellamy!”

Bellamy burst into the living room. Octavia leaped to her feet, a flash of panic illuminating her face before defiance dawned. “Bell!”

“What do you think you’re…” But then he saw who sat on the couch next to her, and red literally obstructed his vision. “You _son_ of a _bitch_!”

Everything was a blur after that. He felt himself moving without registering the thought it took to get there, and the next thing he knew Clarke was standing between him and his target. Her expression gave away nothing but determination to make herself heard. “Bellamy! Listen to me.” Dimly, he registered Octavia screaming and pounding on his back, and a growing pain in his previously injured hand, but the only thing he could focus on was Clarke. “If you go to jail for assault,” she said, slow and clear, “who will take care of your sister?”

Assault? He was going to _murder_ Lincoln, not beat him up… except she was right. She was right. He could do something about Octavia, but not from jail. His chokehold on Lincoln’s throat loosened, enough for the other man to smack his hand away and stalk out the door that still stood open. Octavia punched Bellamy in his ribs hard enough to hurt before she chased after Lincoln.

Clarke and Bellamy stared at each other, his harsh breaths the only thing marring the silence, before Jasper spoke behind him. “Holy _shit_ , Bellamy.”

Bellamy whirled to see Jasper and Monty huddled next to each other in front of the TV, faces pale and drawn. “You were _here_?”

Monty shrugged. “Yeah. Lincoln came home from Boys and Girls Club with us because we asked him to walk us after it closed, and Octavia heard us outside and asked us up because you weren’t home, and she gets lonely. We were just watching TV.”

Blood dripped from a split lip he didn’t know he had onto his tongue, coppery with regret. “You two should be heading home.” Well, Jasper’s home. He actually had no idea where Monty lived. They shuffled out, still wide-eyed and afraid.

Clarke wasted no more time, striding over to take his hand and turning it over in hers. “You’ve probably really fractured it this time. You should go right to an emergency room.”

“Fuck that.” He tried to take his hand back, but she didn’t let him, and he was too off-kilter to fight her.

“Are you okay?” By all rights, she should’ve been terrified, or at least repulsed, but she only looked intent.

“I’m fine. You should get going. It’s late and this neighborhood isn’t good.” He couldn’t tell if the expression on his face was a sneer or just a smile. “I’ll walk you out.”

“Fine.” She followed him back down the stairs. When they got to her car, she unlocked the door without getting in. “You really messed up your hand. I’m worried about it.”

Now that the rage had cooled, he was starting to feel ashamed of himself. “Maybe I deserve it.”

“Maybe you’re twenty-four and doing too much and you thought some guy your age was perving on your baby sister.”

“You’re barely older than she is; does that make me a perv?” he teased before he realized what he was telling her.

Her eyebrows lifted, and she nodded with obvious satisfaction. “No. That makes you smart.”

Bellamy had no answer to that. She didn’t wait for one, anyway. Her car turned the corner before he remembered he had to find Octavia.

She didn’t respond to his texts or calls, none of her friends knew where she was, and he was about to seriously panic when he got a text from Anya, who was the assistant director at Boys and Girls Club. _Your sister came over to my apartment. Don’t freak._

 _Tell her to come home_ , he texted back.

 _Yeah, no, bad idea, unless you want her to run away for real._ He stewed, thinking about going over to Anya’s even though he knew it would be the wrong move. Another text buzzed his phone before he could make a decision. _I’ll take her to school in the morning. Give her some space._

He realized he should be more grateful that Octavia hadn’t just run straight to Lincoln’s place, wherever that was, but the sickness in his gut made him want to strike out. Instead, he drank enough to fall asleep and woke up with his alarm accentuating the pounding in his head.

He didn’t have to work at the hospital today, at least, but getting through his shift at the brickworks had him clenching his jaw against the pain and swearing under his breath every time he picked up six more bricks. By the end of the day, one of the men who worked next to him took off his headphones and asked, “You okay, Blake? You look pale.”

“I’m fine,” he grunted, and left before anyone else could act like they cared.

When he got home, he saw that Octavia had been there already. She'd vented her feelings by stabbing his textbook to his pillow with a knife. He supposed he should be grateful it wasn’t the table, because pillows were a little easier to deal with in a stabbed condition. Plus, the table was one of their few pieces of decent, non-about-to-fall-apart furniture. Seeing the book reminded him that his final was due within 24 hours. He wanted nothing more than to fall into bed and sleep a whole night, or maybe go to Anya’s to drag Octavia back no matter how much she screamed. He sat at the table to start on his essay questions. Typing hurt like a bitch, but what choice did he have?

Octavia showed up at midnight, Jasper and Monty on her heels. They all reeked like weed but he couldn’t give a shit at the moment.

“Do we have any food?” Octavia asked, starting to look through cabinets. “Jasper’s mom can’t go to the grocery store till payday.”

So they weren’t going to talk about it. Relief was selfish, but it was all he could feel. “We’ve got food.” Bellamy went to the right shelf and lifted down a box of 36 ramen packets. “Put eggs in it so you’ve got protein.”

He used the opportunity of handing the box to her to examine her pupils. She rolled her eyes. “It was them, not me. I opened a window.”

“You staying?” His voice went gruff as he asked. It didn’t really matter if she said no, because he’d make sure she came back regardless, but it would make things a hell of a lot easier if she made the decision on her own.

“Yeah. You’re lucky Lincoln didn’t decide to press charges, Bell.”

“I’ll talk about it later. Gotta work.”

“Whatever you say.”

He could tell they made an effort to keep it down, although they kept forgetting and shouting at each other before they remembered why he sat at the table. With Octavia home, he could concentrate better. He finished after another hour and hit the “submit” button immediately so he couldn’t overthink things.

The next day, his days off with the hospital and brickworks actually aligned. He slept for sixteen hours straight on his ventilated pillow. When he awoke, Octavia looked up from her spot on the foot of the bed, where she was reading a book. “Finally. You’re up. How’s your hand?”

Bellamy didn’t have to examine it to know, but he did anyway. “Hurts like hell.”

“Serves you right.” She slammed the book shut and leaned over him. “When are you gonna admit that I’m able to take care of myself? I’m eighteen in three weeks. What’re you gonna do then? Chain me to the bed? Hide me under the floorboards?”

“For fuck’s sake, O.” He ran his uninjured hand through his hair. “You _can’t_ take care of yourself. You’re still in high school.”

“No one took care of you in high school, and here you are.”

“Mom tried,” he mumbled, picking at his threadbare sheet.

“Mom slept with our apartment complex manager so we could keep our rent affordable. She did what she had to do. I guess that’s one definition of taking care. You’re different, though.”

“I’m not fucking Grus, that’s for damn sure.”

She grinned, a quick flash of amusement, before it faded into seriousness again. “If you keep on trying to control me, it won’t work.”

A panicky certainty that she was telling the truth jittered in his belly. He rolled over, facing away from her. “I can’t talk about this now.”

She waited for a moment. “Fine. I’m going to Atom’s.”

“I hate that little prick.”

“I know you do.”

“He only wants to get in your pants.”

“What makes you think he didn’t? Bye.”

“Bye.” The front door slammed a minute later.

One of his middle finger’s knuckles had swollen to three times its normal size. Bellamy argued with himself about going to Urgent Care until his more sensible side won out. He left an hour later with a splint on his finger, a prescription for painkillers he wouldn’t fill, and a prescription for antibiotics that he did.

The next day, he went to work at the hospital and didn’t look for Clarke, which explained why he wasn’t disappointed when he didn’t see her. At all. Same as the next day, and the next, until he found himself standing in front of the wall of CCTV monitors examining every one for her face.

On the fourth day, he had to help restrain a man who was twice his size and high on something that gave him superhuman strength. Bellamy got his face smacked against the floor a couple of times for his trouble before someone sedated the patient. Afterwards, he sat in the break room trying to decide whether or not he had a concussion, until a wry voice observed from the doorway, “Every time I see you, you’re more beat up.”

He barely managed not to jump up to meet her. The dizziness helped with that, at least. He did turn his head, cautiously, and saw that Clarke had several cuts on her own face. “What the hell happened to you? You weren’t there, were you?”

“With that patient who’s the size of a mountain? No. I had a hiking accident. It’s my own fault, for going out when it’s been raining for a week straight. Looks great, doesn’t it?” She sat down in the seat beside him and grabbed his hand before he could draw it back. “How’s this feeling?”

“Pretty good compared to my head. I ought to thank that guy for giving me a distraction.”

Clarke leaned closer, until her lips were a breath away from his own. “Your pupils aren’t dilated weirdly or anything.”

Bellamy’s throat went dry. He had to try twice to say, “You should be glad I’m around to practice your medical skills on.”

Her gaze dropped to his lips for a second, and he fought the urge to close the gap between them. She sat back before he lost. “I’m always glad you’re around.”

Which was nice to hear, but confusing as hell. “Why?”

Clarke’s face went serious for a moment, as if she were contemplating answering honestly. She spoke lightly instead. “It’s not every day that a girl gets the opportunity to have such a great example of a masculine specimen model for her.”

“Your art final’s got to be due this week, right?”

“On Friday. Are you done?”

“Yeah, till next quarter.” He had registered, but he wasn’t sure they’d let him attend with his loans still delinquent. Probably they wouldn’t, but maybe that was a good thing. He could work more and start paying them off.

“Then can I come over to your place?”

“You want to come over to my place.” Bellamy couldn’t keep the disbelief out of his voice. “Was it too dark for you to _see_ my place, when you came over the last time?”

She did the almost-smile thing. “I saw it. I liked it. You live there. Your sister seems cool.”

“Yeah, people usually say that when she punches the shit out of me. Sure, you can come over.”

They had to coordinate their schedules—she had dog walking and another final and he had work—but they landed on eleven the next night. “I’ll give you a ride, of course, and dinner,” she added, as if it almost went without saying.

Was that a date? It sounded like a date. But she had to know his financial situation now and maybe she just felt sorry for him, which would be the worst thing. He settled for, “Octavia will be there too,” and Clarke just asked if she liked Korean tacos, so he was still in the dark.

When he got into her car the following night, the smell of kimchi and bulgogi immediately surrounded him. He twisted around in the seat to see four big brown paper bags. “I’m _starving_.”

“I got enough for your sister’s friends too. At least, I hope it’s enough. Teenage boys are bottomless pits.”

“I’m kicking those little tools out and eating their share,” Bellamy said, but he texted his sister with, _Tell J and M we’re coming with food._

“Don’t you dare. I already defended it from one of my clients on the way here. I can definitely take you.”

“I thought you walked dogs?”

“I do. This is a St. Bernard named Charlotte. Her owner asked me to drop her off at his office after her walk, and it was just down the road, so I did. Sorry if she left any drool on your seat.” That made him settle back against the door to examine her more closely. Clarke didn’t seem self-conscious under her gaze, but she did ask, “What?”

“Why does Jake and Abby Griffin’s daughter walk dogs?”

One corner of her mouth quirked up. “My dad’s doing some top-secret thing right now for the government. I really have no idea what it’s about, but it eats up all his time, he’s in Washington D.C. every time he calls, and he barely calls. So, it’s just me and my mom, and she… has really different ideas about what I should be doing with my life. Like, I actually had to fight her to take one art class, and when I transferred back to U-Dub from Yale it was the end of the world. It looks bad for the financial head of a Catholic organization to have a daughter who dates girls sometimes. Probably if I weren’t a Griffin, no one would care, but being Jake’s daughter means that I sometimes make the local columns. She wanted me to ‘be more discreet,’ I told her I’d do what was right, and she stopped underwriting my life.”

“You look like you’re doing okay to me,” Bellamy drawled, giving the interior of the car and her clothes an exaggerated once-over.

Clarke actually flushed at that. “I am. I don’t mean to make this sound like a ‘poor little rich girl’ scenario. There’s no way she’d, for example, stop paying for my college. My dad would just pay for it instead, and anyway she still wants me to succeed, just on her terms. But it does mean that if I want anything that she doesn’t rubber-stamp, I need to have my own money. Like my art class. I paid for that. And she won’t pay for me to live anywhere else but home, since she says we have a perfectly good mansion, and she has a point. I’m saving up for that, too. So I walk my rich neighbors’ dogs. Which wouldn't be enough, if I weren't living rent-free.”

“Makes sense.” Not that he still wouldn’t love to have those problems.

Octavia, Jasper, and Monty were all crowded on the couch watching TV when he opened the door. They jumped up to help with the bags, since Clarke’s hands were full of art supplies. Bellamy headed straight to the shower, his usual routine after being in the germ factory that was the hospital. He washed in record time and rejoined them at the table.

Jasper and Monty were effusive in their thanks for the food, but Octavia skipped over those niceties. “Please tell me you’re dating Bell. He needs a hobby besides ruining my life.”

“I would love to be Bellamy’s hobby,” Clarke said without batting an eyelash, and Bellamy choked on a mouthful of taco. Octavia laughed her ass off, but she pounded him on the back all the same.

The younger three returned to the couch as soon as the food was gone, which Bellamy both did and did not appreciate, and Clark positioned him the way she wanted at the table. As she picked up her pencil, he said in an undertone, “I thought this was going to be a nude?”

“I figured you’d want those delinquents to clear out before I stripped you,” she replied in an absentminded way, without looking up from her paper. “It’s still in the works, though. If you’re up for it.”

Right. Bellamy raised his voice. “Okay, leave. You too, O.”

“Oh my God, _gross_ ,” she complained, but she headed for the door without further argument.

“Sexiled!” Jasper crowed to Monty. They did a complicated fist-bump-high-five thing that ended with both of them squeezing through the door at the same time.

Monty reached back to close it, and then Bellamy and Clarke were left to look at each other.

“So.” His pulse raced so loudly in his ears that his voice sounded far away. “How do you want me?”

“You should be ashamed of yourself for giving me an opening for cheesy lines that I could drive a truck through. Take off your shirt.” Bellamy obediently unbuttoned his shirt and shrugged it off his shoulders. Clarke gave him a long, appraising look. “The undershirt, too.” He stood to take that off. She probably thought he couldn’t hear her quick intake of breath as he pulled it over his head, but he did and it left him smirking.

“What else?”

Clarke laughed. “Are you really just going to let me strip you in your kitchen? I actually do have a final. That wasn’t a line. I have to turn it in, but it won’t take me nearly as long as it will the other people in the class, since I have more experience.”

“So I guess the real question is, which do you want to do first?”

She cocked her head in what looked like genuine consideration, glancing from his body to her sketchpad and back again. “How much time do you have? I don’t want to make you so tired tonight that you fall asleep at your other job tomorrow and crush your hand again.”

Bellamy moved closer, until his feet practically touched hers. “I’ll take care of myself, thanks.”

Clarke set her pencil and paper down on the table and stood. “Everyone can use some help with that, sometimes.”

“I’m not sure I believe it when it comes to you.” He caressed her hair back away from her face.

“If I don’t kiss you in the next ten seconds, I might die, though, so you could help with—”

She stopped because his lips pressed to hers. Clarke kissed the way she talked, no hesitation, straight to the point. Her mouth opened first, and Bellamy heard himself make an embarrassingly whimper-like noise in the back of his throat. He almost forgot to breathe when her fingers started playing with the button on his jeans. He pulled back to see her eyes reassuringly dazed and her mouth swollen. “Whoa, I feel like I’m being taken advantage of here. We should both be half-naked.” He tugged at the hem of her shirt, and she raised her arms over her head in compliance.

As soon as her face cleared the material, she said, “I just didn’t want to intimidate you with my amazing rack, but since you insist.”

It really _was_ amazing, offered in a low-cut bra that told him she’d definitely been thinking ahead. Bellamy had seen his share of breasts but she deserved to be proud. “God, you’re right. This is terrifying. Quick, let me take off your bra so I can feel better.”

“Absolutely.” She finished opening his jeans and palmed his erection through his boxer briefs. Bellamy bit back a groan. “On second thought, you do it for me. I’m busy.”

“Yeah.” He fumbled for half a second, distracted by her fingers making their way into his underwear. The hooks slipped free just as she touched him skin to skin. Bellamy squeezed his eyes shut. “Oh, fuck.”

“Uh-huh.” Clarke shook her bra off one arm, switched the hand she had on him, and dropped the bra to the floor. “Okay, I really need you inside me.”

There was no way he’d be able to last long enough for her to come first if he did that. “Not yet.” Bellamy pushed down her pants until she kicked off her shoes and took over the job. When that was done, he lifted her onto the table and knelt before her. Clarke spread her legs in invitation, which prompted a laugh. “You sure you’re ready? You seem like you’re not ready.”

“Take your time.” The words would’ve carried a greater impact if she hadn’t already entwined her fingers in his hair.

Her folds were already glistening with wetness, which was pretty flattering. Bellamy leaned in and ran his tongue from bottom to top, then fastened his mouth on her clit. Clarke muttered, “Fuck.” Glancing up, he saw her eyes half-closed, but she was watching him and that was so hot that he couldn’t help grinning. She made a plaintive sound. He licked a few more times in apology, and then he really got to work. Clarke’s grip tightened almost painfully in his hair, but he didn’t mind. It was a good sign.

Once her thighs started to tremble, he slid one finger inside her. Clarke hooked her legs over his shoulders and begged, “More, please, I can take three, _please_ Bellamy,” so he obeyed, adding two more fingers and crooking them _up_ , and that sent her over the edge. She arched up into his mouth with a drawn-out moan and then collapsed, trying to catch her breath. He pulled back to do the same. Clarke seemed to notice then that she’d practically yanked his scalp out when she came. “Oh, no.” She sat up and caressed the curls back from his face. “Poor hair. Poor _Bellamy_. Let me make it up to you. With sex.”

Yes please for the love of God with sex. She was so gorgeous and so cute and he needed to be buried balls-deep in her now. “Bedroom’s that way.” He pointed, not without effort, because she was sucking on his neck while she eased his underwear down and her fingers wrapped around his length again.

“I’m sure we’ll get there eventually.” Bellamy stared down at her, mind not able to process, and she gave him a smile. “I’ve got condoms.” When he still didn’t move, she _tsk_ ’d and leaned up to kiss his jaw. “C’mere.” With one hand, she reached into her bag, pulled out a condom, and tore open the wrapper.

“Oh.” He realized what she meant when she started rolling it on. “Here.”

“I’m not waiting any longer.” Without further ado, she leaned back and guided him into her. Taken almost by surprise, Bellamy bent over her and buried his face in her hair, spread around her in a golden halo. Clarke smelled really good and she felt even better, all _hot-wet-tight_ around him and soft beneath him. She made a happy sound. One hand came up to cradle his head; the other stroked his side. Her legs wrapped around his waist. “What’re you waiting for?”

Basically, for the top of his head to not feel like it was about to blow off, but he had a feeling it wouldn’t improve. He started to move rather than tell her. She lifted her hips to meet him, her fingers digging into his shoulders. He wrapped her in his arms to protect her backbone from the unforgiving wood of the table and lifted his head to watch her breasts bounce as he bottomed out with each stroke.

“Oh my God,” Clarke groaned, and the sound of her voice shot straight to his cock. A flush spread across her chest and crept up her neck. “Bellamy, I’m so close—” She reached between her legs. The air in his lungs went thin and insufficient as she rubbed her clit. He tried to slow down but she felt too good, his hips wouldn’t obey. It didn’t matter. The flush finally reached her face and she came again, teeth dug deep into her lower lip to muffle her cries. Bellamy only made it a few more seconds before he pulsed deep inside her.

He kind of lost track of what he was doing after that for a moment, and when he remembered to pay attention, he discovered he was planting kisses on her temple and forehead, kisses that were way too tender. He pulled back and away, using the need to dispose of the condom as a justification. He returned, zipping his pants, to find Clarke sitting at the table, clothes in place and pencil in hand. Only the lingering pink in her complexion gave away the fact that she was still affected. “Are you ready?” She pulled her sketchpad into her lap.

Caught off-guard, he almost said _What, are we acting like nothing happened?_ before he remembered he’d actually been worried about her acting like something important had happened. “Uh, yeah. Shirt on or off?”

“Off, thanks.”

Octavia texted him twenty minutes later to check that he wasn’t naked before coming home and going to bed. Clarke finished up around one. Bellamy walked her to her car and watched her put her supplies in the backseat. Once she closed the door, she turned to hug him. He froze for an instant, unsure of how to react, then folded his arms around her. She fit perfectly. It shouldn’t be so hard to let her go.

Clarke tucked her face against his neck for a second. “I’ll see you soon.” Her voice sounded muffled. Maybe she didn’t want to let go either.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Honestly, the words were just as much of an assurance to himself as they were supposed to be to her.

She kissed his cheek, and got into her car. Bellamy watched her leave until she turned the corner.

 

Afterwards, things would have been fine, except Clarke disappeared.

Bellamy was so busy telling himself it didn’t matter that they’d fucked that he managed to not notice she wasn’t around for an entire week. But Octavia asked if Clarke was coming over again, and then he remembered she hadn’t been at the hospital.

He managed to go six more days without saying anything, but his commitment to her not being important wore out after that. He asked Nate Miller, “Hey, have you see Clarke Griffin around? Has she been volunteering in the mornings or something?”

Miller didn’t look away from the screens in front of him. “I haven’t seen her, but I wasn’t looking, either. Why?”

 _I had sex with her and it felt like the beginning, not the end_ wasn’t an acceptable answer. Bellamy went with, “She left something at my apartment.” A graphite pencil, to be precise, one that probably cost about two dollars.

Christmas came and went. Octavia bought a very nice hardcover book on Roman history for him with money she’d saved from babysitting Anya’s daughter. He knew she’d also bought something for Lincoln, but he couldn’t find the energy to fight her on it. He did seek Lincoln out when Octavia wasn’t around to say he was sorry for trying to kill him. Lincoln just gave him a nod of acknowledgment, which was enough.

On New Year’s Eve, Bellamy sat in the CCTV room and watched the feeds with half his attention while Octavia live-texted the TV shows to him. A knock at the door made him sit up, but Clarke opened it and he was on his feet before he knew what he was doing. He stopped just before he grabbed her.

Clarke had styled her hair in some sort of intricate mess of braids. Otherwise she looked exactly as she always had, gaze direct and expression unapologetic. Bellamy meant to greet her like a normal human, but instead all that came out was an angry, “Where the hell have you _been_?”

He saw it then, the flicker of pain in her eyes that made her look older than her years. “I’m sorry.”

“No. Wait.” He shook his head like a dog getting water out of his ears. “Start over.” He ran one hand down from her shoulder to her hand, lacing his fingers through hers. “I can be a real dick sometimes.”

She gave him a real smile, tired but genuinely happy. “Only sometimes?”

“Ssh, ‘all the time’ is a superlative and we don’t use those.” Clarke laughed, and he pulled her into the room, shutting the door behind her. “Are you okay?”

“I am now. My mom and I had a really bad fight the day after I went to your house. I left out my phone, she saw some texts I sent to my friend Raven about you, and she thought Bellamy was a girl’s name. She thought I was dating a girl to _spite her_.”

“Does she really think you’re shitty enough to use someone that way?” If she did, then Abby Griffin had no idea who her daughter was.

“I guess so.”

Wait. Why had Abby seen his name and immediately thought that meant Clarke was dating someone? He was afraid to ask. “So you took off?”

“Yeah. I went to Wells’ first, and he tried to talk sense to me, but I was still too angry. So then I flew to D.C. My dad can’t hang up on me if I’m in his townhouse. He says hi, by the way. He wants to meet you when he comes back into town.”

Bellamy’s head whirled. “You told him about me?” Meeting dads was a big deal. He might never have had one but he knew that much. This conversation was going so opposite to his expectations that he couldn’t catch his balance.

“Of course I did.” Clarke moved closer, until her head leaned against his sternum. “I knew you don’t think you have time for a girlfriend, so I didn’t ask you out. But I’d like it if you met my dad. It won’t be for a few more months, anyway.”

She was right about not having time, but then again he’d managed to see her plenty before she left. She’d sort of edged into his life without him noticing she was working on it. “Okay, that’s fair. Since you met my family too.”

“Your family is significantly cooler.”

“I think that’s literally the first time anyone has applied that concept to Jasper.”

Clarke laughed into his chest. “Okay, significantly more easygoing.”

“Yeah, I’m going to have to take you back with me again because I think you overlooked Octavia.”

Her arm wrapped around his waist. “Sounds good. I like it there. I like her. I like _you_.”

And she'd come back. She tilted her chin up to look him in the eye. Bellamy let go of her fingers and framed her face with his hands. “Thanks for not asking me out.”

“You’re welcome. Thanks for not letting me fall flat on my face, that time on the bus.”

“You’re welcome.” His phone was buzzing over and over again, so Bellamy checked it just in case. “O’s texting the countdown to the ball drop.”

They both watched as the little bubbles appeared in the conversation.

_five_

_four_

_three_

_two_

_one_

“Happy—” Bellamy began, but she pulled his mouth down to hers. He thought he’d said enough, regardless.

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't sure about posting this, especially since when I began writing it I had only watched 5 episodes of The 100 from beginning to end. I watched significantly more while I wrote, and I'd read a bunch of fic (like, hundreds) too, but I still feel like it doesn't add a lot to the already sizable (and impressively well-done) lexicon of Bellarke fic.
> 
> But. It was written because samsjazz asked me to do so. She's had a rough year, and faced it with a lot of courage and grace. Since I can't do much else for her, I wrote fic. I decided to post it mostly because I'm proud to know her, and I wanted to say so publicly.
> 
> Title is from [here](http://www.loc.gov/poetry/180/082.html). Thanks to samsjazz and fangirlJeanne for their prereading.


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